


Passion and Love

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-23
Updated: 2008-03-24
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It’s a harsh thought, but passion surges through Petunia flowing as fast a wave and she just wants to ride it. She’s always thought herself as calm, not exactly boring but very much living to a routine. Everyone knows exactly what to suspect from Petunia Evans. [petunia x james, twoshot]





	1. Christmas Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Petunia is born on Christmas Day. Obviously, she doesn’t remember it, but her father once told her that it was a strenuous time, only brightened by the shining light that she represented. He makes it sound like a fairytale, like she was the princess that everyone adored, like she was the girl who ignited fire and passion in her parents’ hearts and caused everyone to coo and fawn over her. She knows that, really, it would have been a messy affair, her mother aching after a long and grueling labour, but she imagines her fairytale world anyway, complete with a little pink bow residing in her hair.

She imagines a world where she is queen and her birth was celebrated with banners and fireworks and royal progressions, not just a bottle of wine and a weeping grandmother. Happiness radiates from every face, she has the attention of a thousand eyes, and there is definitely nothing even remotely reminiscent of the true scenario.

At least in her imagination she can feel the love and the passion.

**\--**

When Petunia is nine, her grandparents are invited for Christmas dinner. Petunia and Lily are groomed to perfection, turned into living, breathing porcelain dolls just to be scrutinised by their own family. Her dress is itchy, but her mother shoots her a reproving glance every time she attempts to scratch. Petunia would do it deliberately, just to irk her overbearing grandmother and laugh at the look of hideous disgust and despair as her grandfather ponders the state of young children today, but she won’t, because she’s good and proper and the model daughter, even if Lily is the one with all of the attention.

Her grandparents barge through the door, cramming a parcel into her hands, before engulfing Lily in a hug. Lily grins, but it’s forced, her teeth are too close together, her cheeks too stretched.

She doesn’t want the love of her grandparents, but Petunia does.

Petunia flops in the corner, before shooting her parents an apologetic glance and straightening herself out in the grand, high backed chairs that surround the dining room table. Prim and Proper, as always. With tantalisingly and frustratingly slow speed she tears at the wrapping paper, her face ready to burst into motion and start grinning. It’s habit these days, she now knows not to expect the new records or dolls that she wants, but the dresses and the soaps and the pretty, frilly and oh so useless things that she doesn’t.

“Thankyou,” she mumbles, she can feel her skin burning under her mother’s persistent glares as that smile graces her face, sincere yet also slightly fake.

Her grandparents are about to respond with their customary “you’re welcome,” but Lily interrupts.

“Grandma, Grandpa, look at me.”

She sprints across the room, arms flailing in an all too good impression of an aeroplane, and then suddenly she flips upside down, showing off her perfect handstand. Her skirt wobbles, exposing a small amount of pearly white thigh, which is something for which Petunia would be berated about for hours, yet they clap like mad for Lily, it’s as deafening as thunder.

No-one notices Petunia sneak off to her room.

“Dear Father Christmas,” she wishes, even though she no longer believes in such things, because that’s for fools like Lily. Father Christmas is just some fat old man from the village, a different one every year, it’s not like they have the power to change anyone’s life. Even though she’s already opened her presents and gotten that gorgeous dress she wanted and a massive pile of things she didn’t want, she continues. “I want a signed Beatles poster and a new pair of shoes and I want Lily to disappear and Mum and Dad to love me best.”

It’s a harsh thought, but passion surges through Petunia flowing as fast a wave and she just wants to ride it. She’s always thought herself as calm, not exactly boring but very much living to a routine. Everyone knows exactly what to suspect from Petunia Evans.

That’s probably why the whole family is shocked when she finally appears back downstairs, tears clinging to her eyelashes. There is a stunned silence, and then her mother says, voice dripping with regret, although Petunia thinks it’s probably more for the fact that she’s wetting her dress than anything, “Happy birthday.”

Petunia nods, but still she feels like something is missing, because masks and smothering things can’t hide what wasn’t already there.

**\--**

Fate is a funny thing, Petunia decides, staring forlornly at the Christmas tree, complete with ornate decorations and glittering baubles. How can you hate someone, despise every fibre of their being, and then miss them as soon as they are away?

The house seems empty, as though she was the eternal flame and it has been extinguished, and yet she seems to be everywhere. The ribbon adorning the Christmas cake is the exact shade of her hair, and the green of the wrapping paper seems to stare back at her with as much intensity as Lily’s eyes.

Christmas is over, as is her birthday, and prayers have been said and presents unwrapped, but it’s so harsh, so formal and meticulous. Petunia’s starting to understand why Lily is the apple of her parents’ eye; it isn’t’ because of her brains, her mesmerising dance skills or her wicked sense of humour, it is her passion and her life and spirit.

And for this, and this alone (or at least that’s what she tells herself), Petunia misses her sister. Without Lily around, Christmas suddenly seems like a present that’s already been unwrapped, the excitement is gone, everything has been stripped to the core, and it’s all devoid of love.

So, as she blows out the last candle on the combined Christmas and birthday cake (Petunia still can’t help but be jealous that Lily wasn’t born on Christmas Day and have to share her birthday with the world), she makes a wish.

“ _I wish Lily would come home, and that Mum and Dad would love me, just like they love her.”_

**\--**

Lily does come home for Christmas, two years later, dragging Severus, that stupid, idiotic, naïve, bat like boy with her. Petunia sees her parents’ noses upturn, but they hide them behind mountains of presents and plates of roast turkey, as though it will hide their obvious distaste. She can’t help but sneer along, because perfect Lily has finally done something wrong, and she knows she should hate this boy, because he’s from her world, the world that she so desperately wants to be a part of and yet he’s so captivating and something inside her burns for him, but it’s so obvious that, just like everyone else, he’s besotted with her vibrant and exquisite sister.

After the joint Christmas and birthday dinner and present unwrapping, they sneak outside, all three of them, ignoring their mothers’ persistent cries of “Lily, Petunia.”

They sprawl themselves on the swings in the nearby playground, Sev splays himself across a park bench and Lily settles herself between his legs; he curls her hair around a bony finger, seemingly unperturbed by Petunia’s visible disgust. Petunia sits on the rusty wooden swing, her feet gently grazing against the sand that covers the coarse grass.

She cannot help but be mesmerised by the sickening display. A fire is burning inside her, consuming her soul, and she’s writhing with jealousy, and yet no-one notices it. She’s just Petunia Evans, the sister who is special to no-one.

Petunia wants to wish and pray that Severus would love her, but she won’t, because fate is against her and it’s obvious that Lily and Severus are destined for a happily ever after.

They’re destined for love. Petunia is only destined to want love.

**\--**

Four years later, when Petunia is twenty and _finally_ able to say she is taken, Lily announces that she’s bringing another friend home for Christmas. Dreamily, she remembers Severus, her world both tainted and blessed by broken dreams and hazy remnants of a past, by memories of the swing set, which had creaked eerily in the snowy winter night’s silence. He’s the past now, and Vernon is her present and her future. He’s her Prince Charming, only with a bit more weight and a stupid moustache that she really wants to shave off, but she can’t figure out how without offending him.

It’s not Severus that Lily brings home though, but another, infinitely more gorgeous boy. He bows and kisses her parents’ hands and introduces himself as James. Lily keeps giving him wary glances, as though she’s worried that he won’t behave, and yet he captivates her whole family. Vernon is doting on her, telling everyone that it’s her birthday and insisting that they spoil her, but it seems so fake next to _his_ stories of escapades and exploding potions and Quidditch, whatever that is. It’s turned into a silent battle between Lily and Petunia’s boyfriends, something that is never acknowledged, but everyone knows it’s there, the underlying tension and the slightly less than friendly glances.

After opening presents and listening to Vernon gush about his prospects at Grunnings and James talk about something or other to do with criminals (Petunia thinks it’s got something to do with catching unscrupulous people like the police do), everyone scurries into the dining room for Christmas dinner.

Everyone’s laughing, and Vernon and she are discussing his neighbours, who spend more time staring out the windows than at their television, when Lily emits a shriek and jumps into James’ arms, sending gravy flying across the table. Quickly, Petunia’s eyes flicker from the broken, torn Christmas cracker to the velvet box that lies on the table, and to Lily and James, who are sharing a passionate kiss, despite her parents tutting.

“Lily Evans, will you make me the luckiest man alive by marrying me.”  
”Yes, yes, of course.”

And as they lean in again, Petunia can’t help but feel that same writhing jealousy she felt all those years ago, it’s wriggling around inside her like a snake. She thought that Vernon could cure her entire life, and patch up the leaking holes that allowed envy to pour from her heart, but still, she wants everything Lily has.

She wants love.

 


	2. Valentines Day

Lily brings James back home for Valentine’s Day, with that ring glittering on her finger. It pains Petunia, and not just because of the way the sunlight reflects off the diamonds (he must be rich, Petunia thinks, and she’s jealous, because Vernon’s rich too, and he certainly wouldn’t buy her a diamond ring, no matter how much he loved her) and burns her eyes. Petunia thinks it’s not just the ring though, it’s Lily. She’s showing it off, which casual waves of the hand that are so obviously manufactured. Showing it off, just like she showed off all those years ago at Christmas time, with her _oh so perfect handstands_ and her _oh so perfect_ smile.

“We’re having a June wedding,” Lily announces happily at the dinner table that night, through a mouthful of chicken and rice. Mr. Evans gives his daughter a wayward glance, but says nothing about her manners. “I’ve always wanted to get married barefoot, amongst the sunflowers.”

Petunia cannot help but scoff at that one; the thought of Lily’s bright red hair clashing with her stupid yellow flowers is hilarious.

“Hippy,” she mutters. “Stupid wedding, stupid girl, stupid everything.” It is such a childish comment, the sort of comeback an eight year would giggle at for hours, and yet it makes Petunia feel so much better.

James, who is sitting to her left, is the only one who hears her comment, and Petunia can almost feel his body shaking beside her as he chokes on a mouthful of potato.

“Petunia,” he says, “That’s not nice.”

“What’s not nice?” Lily asks, eyebrows receding into her hair as she spoke.

“Oh, Petunia just said she wanted to design her own bridesmaid dress because she doesn’t want to end up in robes.”

Petunia turns her head to glance curiously at him, wishing that his true intentions were clear. Everything should be clean and crystal, she thinks, definitely not murky and hard to see through.

“I’m not sure, Petunia,” she says. “I was kind of wanting Mary to be the bridesmaid.”

“You do,” James says. “Isn’t she going off to America with Remus?”

“She was,” Lily replies, “but Remus is staying obviously, so she changed her mind.”  
Who the hell Remus and Mary were, Petunia didn’t have a clue, but … _how could they? How could they do this to her?_

“It’s because I don’t belong to your world, isn’t it?” Petunia asks curtly, her voice far more livid than she expects it to be, and it scares her, because she’s always been rational and it feels like she’s about to lose control.

“Of course not Petunia,” Lily says, and Petunia studies her face intently for any sign of a lie. “It’s just … Mary is my best friend, and she’s the first person that found out after James proposed, except for the family and I … I kind of promised her.”

Everyone stares at Lily, leaving Petunia to quickly wipe her face on a napkin and hide the stray tears that fell from her eyes like raindrops. Why can’t Vernon be here? He would have been attacking Lily ferociously with words by now, sticking up for her, protecting his beautiful girlfriend. Damn Grunnings.

“Look,” Mrs. Evans suggests gently, “why don’t you make both Petunia and Mary your bridesmaids?” It is a half-hearted attempt to cheer her oldest daughter up, Petunia is sure, because there were some things you couldn’t hide from a mother, and sadness was one of them, no matter how many times you scrubbed the tearstains from your face.

Petunia nods, and Lily does too, both of them refusing to look at each other. Regret and anger hang above the table like storm clouds; Lily and Petunia are drowning in it all, but they both fight to stay afloat and be the first to find shelter.

The rest of the meal continues in silence, broken only occasionally by a grunt from Mr. Evans as he chews a particularly tough piece of meat or a sigh from Mrs. Evans as she watches her daughters, one from the corner of each eye. As the sound of forks clattering against empty plates fills the air, James stands up, towering over Petunia and Lily, who are sitting either side of him.

‘“Happy Valentine’s Day Lily,” he says, bowing before presenting her with a bouquet of roses, all tied with a perfect pink ribbon that clashes with their bright red petals. It’s all so cliché and horrid, but Lily’s face is so full of adoration, that Petunia thinks she better not mention it. A stray thought crosses her mind; she wants James to give her roses too, red ones, because everyone knows that red stands for passion and romance and ‘I love you.’

“I love you too.”

There’s kissing and applause and Petunia just wants to die, until Lily excuses herself to have a shower and her parents head off to watch television, leaving Petunia and James, alone except for the spotless, pearly white fridge and the numerous jars of coffee, sugar and tea.

“Look,” James said, leaning casually against the cupboards, body splayed at a funny angle and hands waving about his face, “I didn’t know Lily wanted that. I don’t agree, but I love her, and I think we’ve had enough fights to last a lifetime. I don’t exactly want certain parts of my anatomy – I’m sure you can guess what, and if not, well that’s kind of sad - to suffer again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Petunia’s voice is distant, controlled; there’s no sign of the emotion that threatened to take hold during the meal.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Lily’s my sister, and I just want her to be happy.”

It’s true, that’s exactly what she wants. But Petunia wants Lily to be happy without James, and now she’s confused, because she’s got Vernon, and he’s exactly what she always wanted – sturdy, reliable and flattering – so why is she suddenly thinking this about James? Love cannot just pop up like this and shout “Surprise,” it’s against the laws of nature, and why is she using the word ‘love’ anyway? Nothing’s going on, nothing whatsoever.

“Anyway, Petunia, Happy Valentine’s Day.”

James stuffs a box of chocolates into her hand, obviously torn between being polite or scurrying away to celebrate the holiday with Lily. She looks down to see a box of chocolates, adorned with a bright yellow ribbon. Yellow: the colour of friendship, not of love. He’s always going to be her sister’s man, and this just proves it.

“Thanks James,” she stutters; a trace of sadness is evident in her voice but she subdues it, because he’s Lily’s, everything is always Lily’s, and nothing will ever change that. “Thanks.”

The next day, Vernon gives her a box of chocolates and a sloppy kiss. She mumbles a thankyou and it’s all she can do not to burst into tears again.

 


End file.
